Page 5 of Song of the Dragon Rider
Uncle Bai's expression shifted from concern to suspicion, his sharp eyes narrowing. “What is going on, Damien?” he prodded, his tone gentle yet insistent. “You don’t seem well.”
I begrudgingly met his gaze, the flickering shadows that played across his face lending a spectral quality. There was no hiding from my uncle. The man had raised me since birth. He knew everything about me. Even if I didn’t tell him everything about Cat, I had to tell himsomething.“She doesn’t like me,” I admitted quietly, the admission tasting bitter. “She doesn’t want to be with me.”
His reaction was immediate. Uncle Bai leaned forward, the stone of his chair scraping against the volcanic floor. His eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in thought. “Did you tell her about the twin flame mark?”
I grimaced, feeling the inadequacy of my efforts. “Not completely.” I studiously avoided his gaze, focusing instead on a small crack in the floor where a tiny fern had managed to sprout—a stubborn bit of life in a place that defied it.
“You need to, Damien,” he urged firmly. “She must understand what it means.”
But his words, though logical, missed the mark of my deeper fear. It wasn’t about whether she understood the significance of our connection. She wanted to leave and return to her world—a world away from the complications and dangers of Elaria, away fromme.
In her eyes, I was likely the villain of her story, the captor who had stolen her freedom. The realization stung, more painful than any physical wound.
The cool pre-dawnair whispered through the island as I departed from the somber shadows of Obsidian Reach, the scent of moist earth and sea salt mingling in the breeze. Uncle Bai’s wings cut silently through the misty morning sky, carrying us away from the confinements of the volcano. The transition from the stark, sulfur-laden caverns to the open, vibrant world of the mainland was always jarring, a sensory overload of sights and sounds for which I was never quite prepared.
It was the third Sunday of the month and the only day I was freely allowed on the mainland, per my father’s – the emperor – exacting instructions. Just as we approached the mainland, the first rays of sunlight broke over the horizon, casting a golden glow that shimmered on the water’s surface. We landed discreetly near the shore where a small boat was hidden among the reeds, its wooden hull bobbing gently in the calm sea. The salty tang of the ocean was a welcome change from the acrid sulfur to which I’d become accustomed, and the gentle waves lapping against the boat were soothing, a natural melody far removed from the volcano’s eerie silence.
Once on the mainland, I borrowed a horse from Uncle Bai’s stables, a sturdy chestnut mare that seemed eager to stretch her legs. The rhythmic clopping of her hooves against the cobblestone path provided a steady backdrop as we traversed the Northern District. The air was fresh, filled with the scents of pine and the occasional waft of smoke from morning fires being stoked.
Arriving at the Ryder residence was like stepping into another world—a distinct contrast to the subdued, utilitarian nature of my island home. The residence was designed in thetraditional Elarian open courtyard style, with pavilions and halls interconnected by open-air walkways that framed beautifully manicured gardens. The sound of water trickling from ornate stone fountains filled the air, and the sweet fragrance of jasmine and chrysanthemums drifted from the gardens, infusing the atmosphere with a sense of tranquility and grace.
When I dismounted my horse at the entrance, a servant hurried over to take the reins, offering a respectful bow. Murmuring voices and the rustle of silk from the servants added to the bustling, yet orderly chaos of a household preparing for the day.
“Your Highness,” a servant greeted, bowing deeply as I approached the main hall. “If you wait here a moment, I’ll get our lady for you.”
“Thank you,” I responded with an appreciative nod. The servant bowed again and disappeared down one of the many winding paths.
As I waited, I heard distant laughter and chattering women, the clinking of gardening tools, and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze. It was a living, breathing place, so different from my secluded abode.
My realization of the misunderstanding dawned just as the sound of approaching laughter grew louder. I cursed under my breath, realizing the servant had misunderstood my visit's purpose. “By the immortals,” I muttered, frustration threading through my whispered words.
Gianna, accompanied by a trio of young ladies, approached. Her demeanor was shy, yet expectant. Her blush deepened as she neared, and the fluttering of her hands betrayed her nervous excitement. “Your Highness,” she greeted with a bow, her voice soft. “I… I didn’t expect you. I thought—”
“You thought correctly,” I interrupted sharply, the situation spiraling in a direction I hadn’t intended. “I’m not here to seeyou.”
Her expression crumbled, confusion and hurt flashing across her features. “Pardon?”
I turned to the servant who initially greeted me, my gaze sharp and perhaps harsher than strictly warranted. “You left before I could clarify who I wished to see. I’m here to seeLady Arya. Maybe you shouldn’t make assumptions so quickly and embarrass your master this way.”
The servant blanched, her face draining of color as she immediately knelt and bowed her head low to the ground. “I’m so sorry, Your Highness! Apologies, my lady!” she stammered, her apology echoing slightly against the stone pathways, a stark reminder of the rigid protocols that governed our interactions.
The courtyard of the Ryder residence buzzed with the gentle rustle of silk and the courtiers’ hushed tones as I confronted Gianna, no doubt cataloging each word to gossip about later. The air was filled with the subtle fragrance of the manicured gardens around us, blending jasmine with the verdantly green scent of freshly cut grass to provide a soothing backdrop to the tension that crackled between us.
“By the immortals, this is embarrassing,” one of the young ladies whispered to the others behind Gianna. The others barely smothered their giggles.
As the servant scurried away to correct her mistake, I turned back to Gianna, who still looked bewildered and more than a little pained. “I… I didn’t know you were close with Arya,” Gianna lied, her voice barely above a whisper as her companions behind her murmured among themselves. She knew very well how close we were, as I’d told her the other day, but she didn’t want to lose face in front of her friends.
I cleared my throat, the sound sharp in the quiet morning. “Yes. We are,” I stated, my voice calm but firm.
“Since when?” she pressed, her bottom lip quivering faintly, her eyes glistening with the threat of tears she fought to hold back. She was putting me on the spot, counting on the fact that I wouldn’t do the same to her. “It wasn’t like this last month. You hated her.”
Her words hung heavily in the air, laden with truth and the history of my feelings. And to Gianna, who only saw me once a month, I was merely an exiled prince, seemingly stripped of my dragon powers and reduced to a human existence. She was unaware of my true capabilities, or the depth of my connection with Cat that had altered everything. Initially, I had viewed Gianna as a potential ally, a means to an end for my escape from Elaria. But everything shifted irrevocably when I found my twin flame.
“Does it matter?” I tilted my head, my tone dismissive. “I don’t need to explain my relationships to you.”
Her friends behind her gasped in shock at my harsh response. Gianna didn’t think I could be mean to her, but I could. I could be ruthless. She’d just never seen this side of me. At least not directed toward her.
Her eyes widened and hurt flashed across her face before she managed to mask it with a courtly bow. “No, I—I didn’t mean to offend, Your Highness,” she stuttered, her words tinged in confusion and embarrassment.
